Why Raccoons Should Go Extinct
by New Konoiche
Summary: The first of a series of vignettes about Hannah and in friends in college. Short description of this one: Marnie has a fever but goes to class anyway.
1. Chapter 1

Marnie's POV:

You know it's going to be an extremely terrible day when both your favorite coffee mug and your alarm clock get broken. I know I said "get broken" in the passive tense or whatever Grammar Nazi Hannah would call it, but really that's wrong, because I was technically responsible for both of them breaking – even though neither was on purpose. As usual, the alarm clock starts blaring at 7 in the morning. I pry my eyes open and sit up slowly. My head and neck ache and my throat feels like I swallowed a bunch of live bumblebees. There's a good metaphor for your creative writing file, Hannah. When I try to hit the off button, the alarm clock falls to the floor with a load clang and the batteries pop out and go flying across the room. Hannah, who is the most ridiculously light sleeper I have ever heard of, rolls over in bed. "Whatwasthat?" she mumbles.

"Nothing, go back to sleep," I say sharply, picking up the clock and only one of the batteries. Whatever. I'll fix it later. As usual, I'm sure Hannah plans on sleeping until at least 11:45. She has this weird habit of telling herself she needs 11-12 hours of sleep a night, as opposed to the rest of us mortal humans, who can usually get by on 6-8. I guess it's okay now, since all of her classes meet in the afternoon (if I remember correctly, her earliest is at 2), but I kind of wonder what's going to happen when she needs to actually get a job. I quietly start the coffee machine and get on my computer to go over my notes again for the presentation on immigration laws that I have to do for Poli-Sci For Non-Majors class today.

I really hate that class, but it was the bearable kind of hatred until last week when Professor Mitchell assigned a group presentation. In general, I don't like group presentations because nine times out of ten, I end up doing all the work. However, this group project is an extra special brand of terrible. Both of my teammates, a non-trad student named Ian, who looks like a recreational meth user and a Gothish Freshman named Ally, spent the entire period discussing how much they hated the teacher and what they planned to do over the summer instead of, you know, planning the presentation. Since the class is for "Non-Majors," I guess it kind of made sense that they weren't thrilled with the material, but, hell, I was a Publics Relation Major myself. I didn't want to be totally rude, but this project was worth almost 45% of our final grade. Disappointingly, I only had an A- at that point and I really, really didn't want to lose my scholarship. "Come on you guys," I said, after what I thought was a pretty generous amount of time. "We have to figure out what we're going to do for this." While they were talking, I had drawn up a chart of all the tasks we needed to make the presentation successful. Someone had to research all this stuff. We had to divide up the 10-minute presentation into equal portions. We would have to get together to practice it, so we would all need each other's contact information and schedules. Ian looked at the chart and laughed.

"Looks like you have it all figured out already," he said. He turned back to Ally. "Are you going to the game tonight? Maybe we should meet up there," And just like that, they were back off topic and back to completely ignoring me. Not only was that obviously rude to the extreme, but I was also a little creeped out that Ian, who was probably about fifty, wanted to go to "the game" with Ally. Gross.

I shoved the chart at them. "Look, someone has to research immigration laws. Then, we need to write up the presentation. I'm thinking we could start with the history and then maybe move on to discuss particular state laws."

Ian nodded blandly. "Yeah, sure, that sounds good," he said. Ally had started talking about how nasty her mom was when I finally had had enough.

"You know, you guys could contribute, too, you know! I'm not failing this assignment just because neither of you care about it! This is a really, really important part of the grade. And I'm not doing it all myself."

This got their attention. Ally sneered at me, with her lip curled around her ugly lip ring. "Jesus Christ," she said. "Chill the hell out, why don't you?"

Ian, who was a slightly nicer person, added, "Yeah, it will be okay. We have a week to do it. No worries. And your idea sounds fine. You can write up a script for it and then we can practice right before class next week."

I hate to say it, but at that point, I angrily slammed down my text book. "What? NO!" I snapped. "We can't just practice right before class! That's ridiculous. And I'm not writing you a SCRIPT. You're going to have to memorize it because guess what? This is a college class, not middle school." I was almost about to threaten to tell Professor Mitchell about their behavior, but being a tattletale in a college setting probably wouldn't look good, especially after I had just insisted on making the middle school comparison.

Then, on the way out of class, something really horrible happened: something that you would never expect to go through as a nineteen year old college student. I accidently over-heard my teammates saying nasty things about me behind my back.

"Christ, I hate that girl," said Ally, as she and Ian left the building. I moved to the side, so they wouldn't see me. Maybe they weren't talking about me at all. Ally seemed like she generally hated pretty much everyone. But then: "people like her are the reason I HATE group projects. God, there's one like her in every class. How can she even stand herself with that stick shoved up her ass all the time?"

Fifty-year-old Ian, who by all accounts should have known better, laughed and agreed. "I used to have an ex like her – sucks the life right out of you," he added. "I wonder if…what's her name, again? In our group?"

"Marnie," said Ally in that snooty voice of hers.

"Yeah, Marnie. I wonder if she has a boyfriend. If I was her boyfriend, I'd probably hang myself."

"If I were HER, I'd hang myself," added Ally.

At this point, I probably should have approached them and politely asked what they were talking about – it would have served them right. But, I didn't. Instead, I locked myself in the closest bathroom stall and cried for what seemed like half an hour. Was I really that unlikable? I know I'm not the friendliest person in the world, but I had friends in high school. I was President of Student Council three years in a row, for God's sake – you don't get there without being at least semi-liked, right? And then I thought: No, I'm not unlikeable, they are unlikable! Why in the world am I letting them get to me? They aren't hugely important parts of my life. In fact, after the presentation, I will probably never see either of them again. Besides, I reasoned, by the time I'm a high-powered, super successful business woman, Ally will probably still be working at Hot Topic complaining everyone she hates to whoever comes into her line of sight. And as for Ian? Hell, the guy is fifty (although, it's possible he's a lot younger – drugs can do that to you) and desperately trying to get a freshman to hang out with him. To put it in the nicest way possible, those two are losers! Besides, they basically said both Charlie and I should commit suicide. What kind of people say stuff like that? Really nasty insecure ones, that's what kind. This made me feel a little better, but not that much. Ally and Ian were the most recent offenders, but now that I thought about it, people not liking me was starting to become a pattern. Charlie's friends didn't seem very enthused about me either. And neither did Hannah's friend Jessa (not that I particularly liked her either). It was starting to seem like a stronger and stronger possibility that maybe I just…sucked.

Later that night, I was still thinking about it and Charlie noticed something was wrong. I had pushed away from him and lay quietly in his bed, staring at the ceiling fan. The whole time we'd been together, I don't think Charlie has once turned that thing on. "Sorry, I guess I'm just kind of tired," I said.

"Oh, okay," said Charlie, sounding hurt and offended. "Is something wrong, Babe?"

I turned back to look at him. "Will you be honest with me if I ask you something?" I asked.

"Sure. Of course," he said. "I'm always honest." He smiled lazily.

"Do you think I'm uptight?"

Charlie responded by laughing, but stopped when he saw I was glaring at him. "Oh, wait, you're serious?" he asked. "Well, yeah, of course you're uptight. But," he added, draping his arm around me, "that's what I love about you."

I told him what happened in class earlier. He stared at me thoughtfully for several long seconds. "Well, it does sound like you were being kind of hard on them, don't you think? I mean, it probably would be fine if you just met before class and kind of winged the whole thing. You don't need to follow every single one of your steps for every assignment. It wouldn't kill you to relax about it."

"I can't believe you're taking their side!" I snapped, sitting up quickly.

"I'm not! It's not about sides! I'm just saying. Maybe you over-reacted!"

"Over-reacted?" I repeated. "They basically said I should hang myself!"

Charlie shrugged. "Well, you weren't supposed to hear them, though."

"Oh, so that makes it all okay then?"

"Well, sheesh," he said. "Everyone talks about people behind their backs."

Unfortunately, I have to admit he is right. Just a few days ago, in fact, Hannah and I spent all afternoon discussing how Charlie stayed home from class just to watch a _Power Rangers_ marathon. Still, I was pissed. I stood up quickly and grabbed my neatly folded clothes off the floor. "You know what? I'm going home! I'm just not in the mood anymore," I snapped.

"Oh, c'mon, Marnie, don't be like that," Charlie whined. "Come back!"

Hannah, on the other hand, at least took my side and hated the hell out of Ally and Ian immediately and almost as strongly as I did. Charlie also called later that night to apologize. He really is a good boyfriend.

Poli-Sci for Non-Majors doesn't start until 9, so I type quietly on the keyboard, sipping my coffee and nibbling a Special K Strawberries and Cream Protein Bar. I had hoped a cup of coffee would take the edge off my headache and sore throat, but no such luck. I guess I can probably come right home after Poli-Sci and sleep it off, since that is my only class today. I finish my coffee and decide to make some more. I didn't sleep well last night, to put it mildly.

Hannah and I are pretty much the opposite in terms of sleep patterns. I usually have no problem falling asleep at all and can easily sleep through just about anything, while Hannah needs to take two Lunesta every night. In fact, lots of times, I am not even aware of Hannah and Elijah talking or making out on their side of the room. Hell, even when she has Jessa over, I can usually sleep through it. But last night…Well. It felt like my mattress was made of solid concrete and I just couldn't get comfortable no matter what position I lied in. Then, I was way too hot, so I kicked my covers off onto the floor, which resulted in me getting so cold, my teeth actually started chattering even though its mid-April. I wanted to get up and drink some orange juice or something to relieve my throat, but I felt too achy, tired and weak to even move and when I sat up, the whole room started spinning, so I had to lie back down. When I finally did manage to drag myself out of bed to the fridge, my legs felt very heavy, like they were weighted down by barbells and it seemed like the walk to the kitchen took almost an hour. Turns out we didn't have orange juice anyway, only a half-full bottle of Blueberry Pomegranate Vitamin Water, which I decided was as good an orange juice replacement as any. But when I took a gulp of it, my stomach twisted into knots and I was suddenly so nauseated, I had to pour the rest down the sink. I guess I did eventually get to sleep at some point though, because when the alarm woke me up I was in the middle of a weird dream in which I found a secret passage way in our building's laundry room that led to this creepy basement where a bunch of weird dark blue bird puppets were singing "Go Tell Aunt Rhodie" in freakishly high-pitched voices.

Now, only feeling mildly less awful than last night, I pour some more coffee into my favorite mug which has a picture of two smiling cartoon raccoons in Santa-Clause hats sitting under a Christmas tree with their arms around each other. It's sort of stupid mug, I know, objectively speaking, especially in mid-April, but I really like it anyway. It used to be my dad's that he got at a White Elephant Christmas gift exchange, but when I was a kid, I used to get ridiculously excited when he let me drink hot chocolate out of the "Raccoon Mug." I don't know. What can I say? Kids are stupid sometimes. I was also ridiculously excited when he let me, at age 18, take the Raccoon Mug with me to college, which, in retrospect, is probably because he never liked it all that much in the first place – why would he? It's super girly. So, needless to say, I am ridiculously heartbroken when I accidently put the Raccoon Mug too close to the edge of the counter and it falls to the floor where it promptly shatters into tiny pieces.

"Damn it," I say in a half whisper/half whine, as Hannah is awakened by the sound. Usually, Hannah's pretty cranky when she is woken up before she has gotten her usual 11-12 hours, but today she is surprisingly empathetic.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Nothing," I say hastily. "I just spilled a bunch of coffee. That's all."

For some reason, Hannah gets out of bed and starts picking up the broken pieces of the Raccoon Mug. "It's okay," she says. "We can clean it up. Are you okay? Did you burn yourself?"

Tears suddenly leap to my eyes. "No. I didn't burn myself. It's okay. I'm fine," I say breathlessly, kneeling down next to her. "You don't have to pick that up. I'll do it."

Hannah studies me carefully. "You don't look so good," she says. "Are you coming down with something?"

"Yeah, probably just a little cold, nothing major" I say, brushing my hair back out of my eyes. It feels damp with cold sweat. Gross. I'm going to need to take a shower before I go – not that I wasn't planning to anyway, mind you. Not showering before class is icky. "I'm fine," I assure her. "I guess I just didn't sleep very well last night."

She puts the back of her hand to my forehead and her eyes widen. "Oh my God, Marnie! You're burning up!" she exclaims.

I guess I'm not surprised. Seems that whatever this is is less of a "little cold" and more likely the flu, even though I got my flu shot back in January.

"You're not going to class, are you?" Hannah asks.

"Well, yeah," I say. We'd kind of been over the whole group project thing a bunch of times, I thought. She knows very well exactly how much this project is worth! Although, come to think of it, Hannah often has the bad habit of forgetting about things people tell her pretty much immediately. "There's no way I'm staying home from Poli-Sci," I say. "Haven't you been paying attention for the past week? I need to get at least a 95 on this assignment if I want to get an A in the class, remember?" I'm aware that I've started to raise my voice and also that I'm kind of hyperventilating.

"Jeez, you don't have to bite my head off!" Hannah says.

"I know. I'm sorry," I say, flustered. "I just want to get the whole thing over with." I'm sure Professor Mitchell would let me do the presentation later if I told her I wasn't feeling well. Maybe she'd even make Ally and Ian go up without me, which would kind of serve them right since they haven't prepared anything. But for some reason, I just can't miss class. I just have a thing about it. And actually, the thought of having to do the presentation later in the week fills me with even more dread than going to class now. After all, other than feeling like I'm going to literally keel over any second now, I'm actually very prepared for the presentation. And, I guess if I'm really truly, truly being honest with myself, maybe I kind of also want Ally and Ian to like me. Even though I don't even remotely like them.

"I really think you should stay home," Hannah repeats. "Like really. You obviously have an insanely high fever."

"Fine," I say.

"Fine you'll stay home?"

"No," I say, grabbing four aspirins (two for now and two to take later – I wouldn't take all four now – they put those warnings on the bottles for a reason), "fine that you think that. That's really sweet of you or something, but could you please mind your own business? Please?"

"I'm not saying it to be 'sweet,'" Hannah whines, her voice getting all high pitched. "I'm saying it because I'm worried about you!"

"Yeah, but you worry when I don't answer your texts within two minutes," I remind her. Which is true. She really does that. If she doesn't hear back immediately, she just up and sends the message again – even though she usually only has to wait a couple hours and then she can tell me whatever is so desperately important to my face. Hannah and I usually get along pretty well, but we've gotten into several big fights over the course of freshman year and last semester. But today, I just plain don't have the energy to get into it with her. Then, while I'm putting away the aspirin, I am suddenly overcome by alternating waves of dizziness, pain, and nausea. I put my hand against the wall to keep my balance.

"Marnie!" Hannah shouts, her voice sounding staticy and miles away. I feel her hand on my arm, so I try to focus on her, but everything blurs and the room starts spinning . Maybe there is something seriously wrong with me, after all.

I shake my head quickly. "I-I'm okay," I say, even though she didn't ask (or at least I didn't hear her ask). "I just maybe need to sit down for a minute." I quickly glance down at my cell phone for the time, since the alarm clock is broken. Somehow, nearly an hour has passed and it's now 7:52. "Damn," I say. "I have to get going. I still need to print a bunch of stuff off at the library, then go over everything with Ian and Ally before class." I hurriedly grab my clothes and towel and head for the dorm's communal showers.

"I can't believe you're actually going to class!" Hannah yells.

"GOOD BYE, HANNAH!" I snap.

As I probably should have expected, despite what I assumed were pretty concrete plans to meet early, both Ian and Ally arrive five minutes late to class, after I have already set everything up for the presentation. Professor Mitchell chastises them for being irresponsible, which is awesome, but it would be even more awesome if she just went ahead and gave them both the failing grade they so richly deserve. I want to go first and get the thing over with, but of course, both Ian and Ally veto this and instead, we have to wait until second-to-last.

My part about the history of immigration in America is first. Honestly, I have no idea how I even manage to get through it. I'm not even really sure what I'm saying, but since, no one in the audience is giving me weird looks, it must at least make some kind of sense. After my explanation of the history, I pay zero attention while Ian and/or Ally finish the presentation. I just want to lie down. Why can't they finish already? My head is pounding worse than any migraine I've ever had and dark black splotches keep randomly flickering in front of my eyes. Then, as Ally is "um uh-huhing" her way through Professor Mitchell's question about where exactly she found her information, the whole room seems to tip forward and the floor rushes up to meet me. And then everything goes black.

When I open my eyes, the whole entire class seems to be huddled around me, all of their faces blurring together. "Marnie! Oh my God! Are you okay?" I hear Ally's snotty voice say from somewhere off to my left side. Wait, since when does she care? I blink several times, but am unable rid myself of this temporary double-vision.

"W-what happened?" I ask, even though it's fairly obvious.

Professor Mitchell is nice, so she kneels down next to me. She refrains from putting her hand against my forehead, however, because even though we are both adults, any form of physical contact between students and teachers at this school is considered a big no-no - I guess because everyone is worried about sexual harassment charges. "You fainted," she says. "Does this kind of thing happen to you a lot? Have you ever fainted before?"

Have I? For some reason, I cannot really remember. I figure that either shaking or nodding my head would just make everything hurt more, though, so instead I just say, "it's no big deal. I guess I just forgot to eat this morning," which technically isn't true. I didn't forget to eat. I just couldn't.

"Well," says Professor Mitchell, "you're probably okay, but I think you should go to the hospital just so they can make sure there are no underlying medical issues."

"NO!" I whimper. I try to stand up, but my knees feel like jelly and I fall back down against the wall.

"This isn't a request, Marnie," Professor Mitchell says sternly. "I've already called an ambulance for you."

An ambulance? Holy shit this whole thing is getting embarrassing.

"Um, I'm nineteen," I remind her. "I can refuse an ambulance if I want to, you know. You can't make me go."

"I'm sure you can," she says. "But I really wouldn't recommend it. Fainting in class isn't exactly normal, Marnie. You should have it checked out." In the back of my mind, I realize Professor Mitchell is probably less worried about my wellbeing than about the possibility of potentially getting sued by my parents, but I still kind of appreciate her concern. Besides, she's right. I'm definitely not in good shape.


	2. Chapter 2

Hannah's POV:

There are quite a few reasons I am jealous of Marnie. She is prettier than me and quite a bit skinnier. She's also a lot more organized. Her parents, unlike mine, generally leave her alone instead of calling every week to make sure she's taking her prescription OCD medications. Of course, since Marnie doesn't actually have OCD, it would be pretty out-of-character for her parents to check in on her about OCD meds, but you get the idea – and I suppose her relative lack of mental health problems is another trait I envy. Anyway, the thing I've always been most jealous of, however, is that Marnie seems to be able to sleep through anything. She literally falls asleep the second her head hits the pillow. And yes, I actually do mean literally in the most literal sense. You know that old game kids play at sleepovers where they put someone's hand in hot water to see if they pee themselves? I bet that would totally work on Marnie (not that I've tried it – I am nineteen-years-old, after all. But sometimes I am really tempted – not in a mean way or anything, mind you – I just think Marnie could stand to take herself a little less seriously, that's all. Maybe I can suggest it to Jessa sometime. Because even though I may personally be too mature for such things, I bet she would get a kick out of it. Besides, she and Marnie pretty much hate each other, so Jessa would probably revel in her humiliation).

But yeah. Even with my newly prescribed 2 Lunesta regimen, I still generally spend hours on end lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, while my mind goes wholly nuts as it engages in sexual fantasies featuring George Clooney, or concocts new ideas for short stories or, my favorite (and most common) indulges in a series of what-ifs. My parents and my therapist and my psychiatrist and Marnie and Elijah and even Jessa all try to convince me that my penchant for "what-if-ing" is harmful to my mental health and insist that I should really stop doing it. However, they are all completely wrong. Instead of stressing me out, the "what ifs" actually soothe me. Not only that, but have you ever noticed that if you worry about something hard enough, it never actually seems to happen? I know that probably seems like a weird OCD thing to say, but it's completely true!

For example, before my parents came up for Family Weekend last semester, I spent nearly the whole night going over every possible scenario. What if my parents embarrass me in front of my classmates? What if they show my naked baby pictures to Elijah and he decides he can't be with me anymore because he knows too many personal details? What if they find out that I don't really have any friends not named Marnie or Elijah or Jessa and then decide to report this to my therapist back home? What if when they talk to their friends who have kids my age, they get really embarrassed because all of my peers are doing so much better socially than I am? What if they decide they like Marnie and/or Elijah and/or Jessa better than me which will make me feel so weird about hanging out with Marnie/Elijah/Jessa that I will have to dump all of them and then I will have no friends at all. Or what if my parents DON'T like Marnie and/or Elijah and/or Jessa and try to convince me they are all a bunch of bad influences? And then, just because I am feeling so negative about my family's visit, my next worry is: what if my parents get in a horrible car accident on the way here and die before I have a chance to say goodbye to them? How would I live with myself knowing it was completely my fault? And would I even be able to survive on my own without my parents' money/support? Would I get kicked out of school because I can't afford housing?

So, there you have it. See what I mean? Anyway, I am pleased to report that none of those incidents actually occurred. Marnie's parents got there the day before mine and took her into the city, so my parents never saw any of them, which is good because Marnie's parents are a heck of a lot cooler and a heck of a lot more normal than mine. They also were relatively positive about Elijah, since they only saw him for a few minutes. And I couldn't get ahold of Jessa at all. Don't get me wrong, though, something bad DID happen during Family Weekend, just not something that I was worried about. My parents and I went to dinner at a fancy restaurant and they promised we could get an early Thanksgiving Dinner (supposedly, that restaurant started serving turkey, gravy, and mashed potatoes in October, even though it's technically an Italian place). However, when we got there, we discovered that they only serve Thanksgiving food during the week. I was disappointed, which my mom construed as being immature and she told me to stop pouting. But I guess it wasn't THAT big of a deal. However, as soon as my parents got home, they called me to report that they both had the stomach flu. So did I, come to think of it – or maybe it was actually food poisoning from the turkey-free Italian restaurant. But, hey, at least no one died.

Anyway, this morning, I am rudely awakened by the sound of something shattering. At first I thought it was part of my dream, where I was putting up a Christmas tree and my parents yelled at me and told me to get some hobbies because it's not even close to Christmas – although I'm not sure what the connection is between putting up a Christmas tree and a lack of hobbies. It was not part of my dream, however, but instead was Marnie breaking a coffee mug all over the kitchen floor. "What's wrong?" I ask, grumpily. My first class isn't until 11, so I was planning on getting at least a few more hours of sleep.

"Nothing," she replies tensely. "I just spilled a bunch coffee, that's all." But she seems ultra-upset for just spilling coffee. Close to tears, even.

Some people seem to think I don't pay that close of attention to the feelings of others', which is technically kind of true, I suppose, but I would have to be completely autistic not to realize something's up with Marnie right now. I quickly clamber out of bed and bend over to help pick up the pieces of the coffee mug. "It's okay," I say. "We can clean it up. Are you okay? Did you burn yourself?"

Marnie doesn't answer. She just kind of gazes at me blankly for a second. "No. I didn't burn myself. It's okay. I'm fine," she says all tearfully, before kneeling down next to me. "You don't have to clean that up. I'll do it." Now that I see her up close, I note that besides being flustered and near tears, she looks incredibly pale and has dark rings around her eyes, kind of like a raccoon. Like worse than usual before she puts on her make-up, I mean. She's shivering a little too, even though it's really warm in here.

"You don't look so good," I say. "Are you coming down with something?" During our first year of college, I seemed to get sick all the time, but Marnie has been generally pretty healthy. I mean, she gets really bad migraines, but usually manages to avoid most of the colds and stomach bugs.

"Yeah, probably just a little cold, nothing major," she replies. "I'm fine. I guess I just didn't get much sleep last night."

I try that old fashioned method of detecting a fever and place my hand against her forehead. I know you usually can't tell if someone has a fever this way, but in absence of a thermometer, it's the best option (note to self: buy thermometer!). She actually DOES feel hot, though. Heat radiates off her and I have to pull my hand away. I'm not a doctor, obviously, but that can't be good. "Oh my God, Marnie! You're burning up!" I say. "You aren't going to class are you?"

I know very well that Marnie has this group project with a pair of extremely abusive classmates. All this week, she's replaced the usual Charlie Talk with non-stop complaints about her Poli-Sci group. And to be fair, they do sound excessively awful. So, I guess I shouldn't be too surprised when her reply is: "Well, yeah! There's no way I'm staying home from Poli-Sci. Haven't you been paying attention for the past week? I need to get at least a 95 on this assignment if I want to get an A in the class, remember?" And that kind of stings, because, yes, Marnie, I have in fact been paying attention. It was kind of hard to ignore.

"Jeez," I say, my voice becoming unfortunately whiney, "you don't have to bite my head off!"

"I'm sorry," she says breathlessly. "I just want to get this over with."

Okay, I think. She's probably delirious. You can't reason with delirium any more than with drunkenness. But I may as well try. Calmly, I say: "I really think you should stay home. You obviously have an insanely high fever."

"Fine," Marnie says. Well, good. That was easy.

"Fine, you'll stay home?" I ask, relief flooding me.

"No," she replies. "Fine that you think that. That's really sweet of you or something, but could you please mind your own business? Please?"

Wow. I suppose I should note that Marnie and I get in to quite a few really stupid fights. Sometimes her stubbornness and my neuroticism just don't go together very well. But I think arguing with her when she is this sick would be inhumane, so I try to be charitable. But still. I hate, hate, HATE being referred to as "sweet!" "I'm not saying it to be sweet!" I snap. "I'm saying it because I'm worried about you!"

Marnie rolls her eyes and sighs. "Yeah, but you worry when I don't return your texts within two minutes," she says.

Now that's not fair. Yes, I do sometimes re-send texts, but in my mind, it's completely rude to just not respond them – especially worried ones. I try to think of a good retort to that, but Marnie is already halfway across the room putting the aspirin away. Shit, how many of those did she take? I wonder. More than two and you risk serious complications (that I plan on looking up on google as soon as my computer finishes booting up). She sways for a second like she's going to faint but puts her hand against the wall. My heart speeds up and I hurry towards her. "Marnie! Are you okay?" I shout. She looks blankly at me, her eyes tinged red, but I'm not sure if it's from her fever or from lack of sleep or from crying. "Hey! Snap out of it!" I say, snapping my figures in front of her face, which I'm aware is kind of rude, but she's really out of it.

"I-I'm okay," she says. "Maybe I just need to sit down for a minute." Um, no. I think. What you need is to lie down. For the entire day. But apparently, there's no time for that kind of thing. "Damn," Marnie says, looking down at her cell phone. "I have to get going. I still need to print a bunch of stuff off at the library, then go over everything with Ian and Ally before class." She hastily grabs her clothes and towel and leaves for the shower room.

"I can't believe you're going to class!" I shout after her.

"GOODBYE, HANNAH!" she shouts back before slamming the door.

Somewhat immaturely, I screech "Yeah, GOODBYE, MARNIE!" After she is gone, I begin pacing the floor. There is absolutely no way in hell I can go back to sleep now, so I get on the computer and type in "dizziness + high fever" because I'm not sure what other symptoms she might have. And what I see is not good. Meningitis, Rabies, Tetanus, West Nile Virus, Chagas Disease, a brain tumor, Lupus, Lyme's Disease, Toxic Shock Syndrome, Malaria, Rheumatic Fever, Necrotizing Fasciitis, Pneumonia, Tuberculosis/Consumption and a bunch of other horrific sounding things. Granted, her symptoms are pretty vague, but by the time half an hour has passed, I'm practically on the verge of tears. Actually, I'm starting to feel a bit dizzy now. It's almost 10:30, so Marnie should still be in class. I know we just argued about the texting thing this morning, but I really, really can't help myself. "RUOK?" I text. "RU feeling any better?" I count slowly to one hundred and twenty before looking back. No reply. So, naturally, I send it again. And then, I guess I should probably go to class.

Even though Early New York Lit is one of my favorite classes, I pay zero attention during the lecture. Instead, my mind goes insane with what-ifs. "What if she DOES have something really serious like Rabies or Meningitis? What if she dies and then I need to get a new roommate next semester? What if the new roommate isn't nice to me? Marnie can be difficult too, no doubt, but I've pretty much learned to deal with her and she can usually put up with me. Would someone else be able to? Could I start over with someone new? What if I DON'T get a new roommate and then I turn into a weird hermit and stay in my room all the time and stop going to class and fail? And if Marnie is dead, then who will I hang out with? Well, Jessa, I suppose, but would I want Jessa as my best/only friend? What if she really does become a bad influence on me? What if I start partying and doing drugs and fail all my classes? Will I have to drop out of school? And what would I tell Marnie's family? Would they blame me because I should have stopped her from going to class? Maybe I should have forced her to go to the hospital. Maybe I should have called 911! What if the last conversation we ever had turns out to be our fight about how bad she apparently looked? And what if whatever she has is contagious and I get it? What if it is already in my system? Well, I suppose Rabies isn't contagious unless you get bitten by a rabid animal. Oh my God, what if she bites me? And anyway, what sort of rabid animals even live around here? Maybe a raccoon? I hate raccoons! I honestly wouldn't mind if raccoons went extinct. Who would miss them?"

"Hannah?" Professor Epstein says. "I asked you a question!"

"Oh…um…could you repeat it?" I ask stupidly.

He rolls his eyes. "Where is your mind today?" he asks. "What in the world are you thinking about right now?"

"Um…raccoons," I say. The entire class bursts into hysterics.

"Raccoons," he repeats. "How about we discuss this at my office hours."

As I hurry out of class with my head down, my phone starts to vibrate. I drop all my books and reach for it, but it is an unknown number. As I've already made clear, I don't usually get calls from anyone aside from Marnie, Elijah, Jessa and my parents, so getting a call from a stranger kind of freaks me out, but I answer it anyway. "Um, hello?" I say.

"Hello," says a strange woman's voice. "May I please speak to Hannah Hogarth?"

"Speaking," I say.

"Hi, my name is Miss Lilly. I work as a nurse at St. Augustus Hospital."

My heart starts pounding and my throat goes totally dry. "What's the matter?" I practically shout, suddenly unable to breathe.

"Well, are you a friend of Marnie Michaels? She mentioned your phone number and told us to get a hold of you," says the nurse calmly.

"What's wrong?" I screech. "Is she okay? What happened?"

"I'm afraid I can't divulge that over the phone," says Miss Lilly, robotically. I've never heard of this Miss Lilly person but I already really hate her guts. "But if you come in, I'm sure she'll explain it when you get there."

"O-okay," I stammer. I'm really out of it as close my phone. Before I know what is happening, I am sobbing uncontrollably and gasping for air. Suddenly, I feel someone touch my elbow and turn around. Oh great. It's my Early New York Lit professor.

"Hi, Hannah. Is everything okay?"

"NOOOO!" I snap. "My roommate's in the hospital! I think there's something really wrong with her! I think she's dying."

"Oh, wow," says Professor Epstein. "I'm sorry. Would you like a ride to the hospital then?"

Sometimes, I really feel embarrassed about what I worry about. Because even I have to admit thinking Marnie obviously had Rabies was pretty over-the-top. She does have something, though. And actually, Strep Throat can lead to seriously horrible things like PANDAS (not the cute bears, but this terrifying brain disease) or Rheumatic fever, but I'm still relieved that's all it is. More than anything, though, she just seems incredibly embarrassed.

"What happened?" I shout as I hurry into her room. She's propped up on the bed and watching an old Tom and Jerry cartoon.

She calmly turns off the TV. "Nothing. It's stupid. I just kind of…fainted during the presentation."

"You fainted? Seriously?" I repeat. "Oh wow. I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

She nods. "I probably should have listened to you," she says. "You were right, as usual."

Well, as much as I love being told I'm usually right, I am so relieved she has come to her senses that I decide to throw her a bone. Just this once. "No, hey, I think it's kind of badass that you went to school with a fever."

"Ugh," Marnie says, falling back against the pillows. "102 degrees. That's pretty high."

"102 degrees?" I repeat. "You could get brain damage from that!"

"Nah," Marnie says. "That's only for over 103 I'm pretty sure."

"Well," I say, "can I get you anything?"

"Coffee would be awesome," Marnie says.

"What? Coffee? But do you really think you should have coffee right now? I mean, really?"

"Why not?" Marnie asks, giving me a weird look.

"I don't know," I say. "Because you fainted."

"I shouldn't have coffee because I fainted?"

Well, I guess when she puts it that way, it doesn't make all that much sense. "Okay," I say. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

"Where would I go exactly?" she asks, rolling her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Marnie's POV:

I remember being horrified – seriously pants-wettingly horrified - of throat cultures when I was a kid. Of course, I didn't even know what a throat culture was until I was seven when some newbie nurse accidently jammed the swab down my windpipe instead of my esophagus – I know they're right next to each other and all, but seriously, how does a medical professional make that kind of mistake? So, yeah, it was pretty traumatizing. It didn't even make it better that my parents got me a strawberry ice cream sandwich afterword. And since that happened, I nearly had a panic attack whenever I had to go to the hospital for anything. Most kids get scared of shots, but those never bothered me at all. Actually, when I was eight, I went in to get a tetanus vaccine because my third grade class was going on a field trip to a sheep farm (since I guess people regularly get locked jaw from sheep or something) and when the nurse came in with the needle, I freaked out and bit her because I thought it was a throat culture. Yeah, like I said: kids are stupid and that definitely doesn't exclude me, obviously.

So, naturally, today, even though I am all morphined-up, I still respond with horror when the nurse suggests swabbing my throat.

"NO!" I shout, suddenly fully alert.

"Well, why not?" she asks. "We have to test you for Strep."

"I don't have Strep," I say, even though my throat feels like it's on fire. So I decide to take the opposite tactic. "Actually, I obviously have Strep. So, I guess you don't need to test for it, huh?"

"We probably should to be safe," she replies. "Don't want to give you antibiotics if you have a virus. C'mon, open up!" She holds out the swab which makes me shudder involuntarily.

If I was really immature, I'd clasp my jaw shut and refuse the damn throat culture, but I am nineteen, for God's sake: technically I've been an adult for nearly two years. I do practically gag when she does the throat culture, but it's nowhere near as horrific as I remember it being.

"We'll get the test results back in a bit," she says, giving me a strained smile. "Sit tight." It seems like I've been "sitting tight" since I got here. After I had all my vitals taken (heart rate: sort of fast, blood pressure: normal, temperature: 102 degrees), they determined it was obviously some kind of infection and that I could go home after they bring the fever down. Until then, I just get to lie here in the hospital bed and ruminate on how stupid and embarrassed I feel.

Around noon, after I get a positive diagnosis for Strep Throat, Hannah comes in and says something really idiosyncratic about how I shouldn't drink coffee because I fainted earlier today. Although, my head is still pretty fuzzy and my fever hasn't gone down yet, so I'm not sure if she actually says it or if I'm just delirious. Then again, Hannah's pretty much the expert on idiosyncratic conversations, so who knows?

While Hannah is off fetching coffee, Charlie comes rushing in, his face alight with worry. He comes and sits down on the bed and…inexplicitly, starts yelling. "My God, Marnie! What were you thinking? Why the hell would you go to class if you're sick?"

I just stare at him, dumbfounded for a second. "Um…what?"

Charlie doesn't get mad. Ever. In fact, his inability to lose his temper can be downright infuriating sometimes. Even when I got mad at him, he would usually just sit there in a neutral kind of way and not yell back. Sometimes, he'd just say all condescendingly, "I'm sorry you feel that way, Marnie" or more commonly, "I'm sorry you chose to take that the wrong way." The biggest "fight" we ever had included him calling my mom to passive-aggressively complain about my "mean" behavior, for God's sake. That was last year, when Charlie had just gotten home after breaking his tail bone. He doesn't have any roommates, so I thought I would go over to his house for a few days to take care of him. I don't think he really wanted me to be there, but he really was pretty useless after his injury and could barely even get himself to the toilet alone. The first night, I made a bunch of enchiladas that I figured we could eat for the whole week.

"So, how are they?" I asked, because he made this weird face after taking the first bite.

"Hm," said Charlie. "They taste more like tacos than enchiladas."

"Um, what do you mean? They're enchiladas. They're baked and they have enchilada sauce." I said.

"Did you use taco seasoning in these?" he asked.

"Well, yeah," I replied. "I guess. I mean, what's the difference, anyway? They're both Mexican food."

Charlie sighed condescendingly. "Yeah, but there is such think as enchilada seasoning. Why didn't you use that?"

"Well, I'm sorry! I didn't know they made that. I don't see what the issue is."

He sighed and put down his fork.

"So, you're saying you don't like them?" I asked.

"No, they're fine," he replied. "Or they WOULD be fine if they were tacos."

"Well, sorry they aren't tacos! But why would they be? I said we were having enchiladas, didn't I?" I snapped. "Honestly, I have no idea how you can even tell the difference. What does enchilada seasoning even taste like?"

"Not like this."

So, that was incredibly excruciating. I guess I assumed Charlie would appreciate me cooking for him. Well, wrongo! Though, I suppose I could almost forgive his weirdness since he was recovering from a pretty serious injury. What I couldn't forgive, on the other hand, is that I found him sitting in the kitchen at three in the morning, chomping on not one, not two, but three of the leftover enchiladas. "Oh, hey," he said, with his mouth full. I told him that those were supposed to be for the whole week and reminded him that he didn't even like them anyway. And yeah, I guess I was kind of shouting, but the way Charlie cringed and bowed his head, it seemed like he was getting abused. "I'm sorry," he whined. The next day, I overheard him telling my mom on the phone about how he just couldn't deal with me.

Hannah suddenly appears at the other side of the bed, clutching two cups of coffee. "Sorry, Marnie," she says. "I kind of ran into him in the hall and told him what happened."

"Oh, that's fine," I say. "I guess. Charlie, what's wrong with you? Why are you so mad? My God!"

Charlie just continues yelling. But, it's even more disconcerting than Charlie yelling would be ordinarily, because everything he yells is pretty nice. First: "can I ask you a question? Are you okay?" (Although I don't know why he thinks he needs permission) and then "I'm really worried about you" and finally "you really need to take better care of yourself!" And then he starts throwing things. Well, specifically, he throws a Fruit and Nut Delight Kind Bar at me, which is pretty much the opposite of kind.

Hannah puts both hands over her head and ducks. I think she's legitimately terrified. You see, Hannah gets really discombobulated about when things don't line up perfectly (as in, someone yelling "nice" things probably really, really confused her).

"CHARLIE!" I snap, which makes my already raw throat almost explode with pain. I wonder if it's possible for your throat to bleed – maybe I'll start coughing up blood. That would certainly just add a layer of awful to this already ridiculous situation. "Stop it! Look what you're doing! You're scaring Hannah!"

"What are you talking about? Hannah's not here!" he says. "Oh great. Are you hallucinating now?"

Well, that's certainly rude. Hannah might not be contributing a ton to this conversation, but she's definitely still here. "I really don't get why you're being so hateful. She's RIGHT THERE!" I snap. My voice is getting extremely hoarse. I'm starting to feel like I'm going to throw up too.

Charlie turns to look at Hannah, who meekly says "hi."

Once again turning calm and also extraordinarily passive aggressive, Charlie says, "Oh, hi, Hannah. Am I scaring you right now?"

"Kind of," she says, staring at the floor.

"See? Leave her alone, Charlie!" I snap.

"Well, if I were Hannah, I would be more scared of you. I think you're the one who's scaring Hannah. Hannah, is she scaring you?"

"Um, nope," says Hannah, because she is a nice person.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Why are you picking on her?" I shout.

"Why are you shouting?" Charlie snaps back. "God, you're just going to yourself worse."

He is, of course, absolutely right. By now, both my head and throat hurt so badly, I start crying. Then, as upset and pissed as he is, Charlie starts to soften a little. He never likes to see me cry, after all. "Aw, oh hey," he says quickly. "No, don't cry. Look, I'm sorry I yelled, okay? And I'm sorry I threw that Kind Bar at you. I just thought maybe you needed to eat something. And you always seem to like those energy bar things."

"I-it's not about the Kind Bar, Charlie," I sob.

"It's not?" asks Hannah.

"Well, you'd still be feeling pretty awful whether or not I yelled at you, right?" asks Charlie.

Well, yeah. Obviously I would still have Strep Throat and a 102 degree fever regardless of whether he got mad at me or not. Still, I can't say it helped. I nod, still crying too hard to say anything. Charlie sits down next to me on the bed and puts his arm around me. "I'm sorry, Babe," he says, quickly kissing me on the forehead. "You just scared me, that's all."


	4. Chapter 4

Hannah's POV:

I just want to say that before today, I really had no opinion of Charlie Dotollo. I mean, he was a nice enough guy, I suppose, but he was also about as bland as sugar free/low calorie oatmeal that's been overcooked in the microwave. I could just not bring myself to find him interesting. I'm pretty sure Marnie partially agreed with this assessment, too, since she's always the one who brings up his obnoxiously neutral emotions – including this time when apparently they got into an "argument" regarding taco seasoning or something which ended in him calling her mom specifically to whine about her behavior – who does that? After today, however, I find Charlie Dotollo all kinds of excruciating.

As I was looking for coffee, Charlie, acting about as emotive as I've ever seen him, practically slammed into me. Luckily, I didn't have coffee in my hand right then, because if I had, I would probably have second degree burns all over my legs and stomach. "HANNAH!" he shouted, roughly grabbing my upper arms and leaning towards me. "Where is she? Is she okay? What happened?"

I can't say that I necessarily love being touched, particularly so unexpectedly, so I jerked away. His breath also kind of smelled like stale coffee, too.

"She's fine," I said. "She has Strep Throat and passed out in class."

"Okay, that's good." Charlie said and barreled past me.

"Okay, that's good?" I repeated. "What part of that is good exactly?"

But he was already barreling past me. I remembered that Marnie wanted some coffee, and actually, I wouldn't mind getting some myself. Having a panic attack really takes a lot out of you. However, I also kind of wanted to warn Marnie about Charlie's odd behavior, so I grabbed two cups of crappy hospital coffee and hurried back to her room.

Unfortunately, Charlie is already there when I return. And he is unleashing his full fury. I don't hear the very beginning of it, but when I get there, he is bellowing the very idiosyncratic: "can I ask you a question? Are you okay?" This is a strange thing to say for several reasons. Firstly, why does he think he needs permission? Does he believe he's in class or something? Secondly, he didn't wait for her permission anyway. He asked "are you okay?" literally two second after "can I ask you a question," so what even was the point of saying the first part? Thirdly, he is yelling, but he is technically saying nice/concerned things, which makes me feel super discombobulated. Finally, and most importantly, this is CHARLIE we are talking about and he never behaves this way, even after he broke his tail bone that time, so its horribly disconcerting.

"Um…what?" Marnie says.

"Sorry, Marnie," I pipe up sheepishly. "I kind of ran into him in the hall and told him what happened."

"Oh, that's fine," Marnie says. "I guess. Charlie, what's wrong with you? Why are you so mad? My God!"

"You need to take better care of yourself!" he shouts. "What's the matter with you?" And then, he throws one of those energy bars at her and snaps "here! You need to eat something! I bought this on the way over!" (Although, I really have no idea when he managed to do that, since he went straight to her room after talking to me in the hall). Marnie is just as surprised as I am, evidently, because she flinches and says "um, what the Hell?"

I instinctively put my hands over my head, because this is starting to become a little over-stimulating.

"CHARLIE!" Marnie snaps. "Stop it! Look what you're doing! You're scaring Hannah!"

I shrink back, because I really don't think this situation should be all about me. I mean, yeah, he's freaking me out, but what she should really be concerned about is that one) he's being a total ass to her when she is sick (which is border-line abusive, if you want my opinion) and two) he's making her yell even though her throat obviously hurts.

Evidently, Charlie has about as much opinion of me as I have as him, so he says: ""What are you talking about? Hannah's not here! Oh great. Are you hallucinating now?"

"I don' t get why you're being so hateful!" Marnie replies. "She's RIGHT THERE!"

I try to disappear into the curtains, but Charlie turns to glare at me.

"Hi," I say, because what other way could I possibly respond to this nonsense?

"Oh, hi, Hannah," he says, his voice suddenly extremely calm. "Am I scaring you right now?"

Well, yes. Yes, you are. I nod. "Kind of," I admit quietly.

"See? Leave her alone, Charlie!" Marnie shouts. Shouting must have taken quite a bit out of her, because she's pale as a ghost and her voice is very hoarse.

"Well, if I were Hannah, I would be more scared of you," Charlie says presumptuously. "I think you're the one who's scaring Hannah. Hannah, is she scaring you?"

"Um, n ope," I lie. Because, she kind of is freaking me out, just because I bet she could permanently destroy her vocal chords if she isn't careful.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Why are you picking on her?" Marnie shouts.

"Why are you shouting?" Charlie snaps back. "God, you're just going to make yourself worse."

Marnie responds by starting to cry. I assume it's because her throat hurts like hell, but Charlie believes it's all about him.

"Aw, oh hey," he says quickly. "No, don't cry. Look, I'm sorry I yelled, okay? And I'm sorry I threw that Kind Bar at you. I just thought maybe you needed to eat something. And you always seem to like those energy bar things."

"I-it's not about the Kind Bar, Charlie," she sobs.

"Well, you'd still be feeling pretty awful whether or not I yelled at you, right?" asks Charlie. He gently climbs up next to her and drapes his arm around her. "I'm sorry, Babe. You just scared me, that's all."

"Why'd you yell at her like that?" I ask. It's a few hours later and Marnie has been out cold for a while. I try to whisper anyway, though, even though she can sleep through anything without sedatives.

Charlie stares at me. "Because she was being an idiot," he replies as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"She's sick," I remind him. "How would you feel if you had a horrible fever and were in an extreme amount of pain and she yelled at you? I just think you could have given her a break. That was just mean-spirited."

Charlie sighs and says nothing for a minute. "I didn't mean to be mean-spirited," he says. "And you're right. I probably shouldn't have reacted that way…I'm not sure why I freaked out, to be honest…I'm usually not like that."

"Yeah," I agree. "I mean, no. No you're not."

"I guess I just didn't want her to get hurt. It scared me that something might happen to her and that she was just going to let it. I just…maybe take her for granted a little, you know?"

I don't say anything, but I feel my eyes start to water and a lump form at the back of my throat. I'm wrong about people sometimes. Really, really wrong. And Charlie's actually a pretty decent guy.


End file.
